He was wearing a snow suit on an 84 degree summer day, that was the first sign he wasn’t mentally sound. The second, was the eerily slow pace in which he walked.
Come on, pee faster… my inner dialogue begged of my 65 lb boxer. Watching, out of the corner of my eye as the strange man crossed closer to my side of the street. Taking note also, of how nearly every inch of his body was covered in layers upon layers of clothing.
I hurried into the safety of my apartment building, stopping briefly at the entrance to say my usual hello’s with Carlos the doorman. Asking, as I always do, if anything noteworthy happened for the day ( P.s. NYC doorman have the best stories, and Carlos’ exuberance to tell them and to exaggerate every detail and make subtle jabs at Trump, make them all the more fun to listen to.)
But that’s when I heard it… a booming voice behind me. I knew instantly it was the man I had been watching. He was yelling in my direction.
I never did make out the words he was barking, but it was clear he was angry. More than that, he was unstable.
Looking back, there was so much to be afraid of in that moment, so many reasons to cower down and recoil in fear. Yet interestingly, at the moment, the maniac wasn’t the one I was taking note of the most… it was Carlos the doorman.